


Have each other until sun

by cameliae



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Character Turned Into Vampire, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, it should be full of mistakes i just know it, no beta im very sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22924894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cameliae/pseuds/cameliae
Summary: Ferdinand, gathering some of his courage, stretches out a hand and strokes his hair, to then almost snap back the moment his fingers leaned on the skin of the neck. Hubert is cold. Colder than he feared. Too cold to be alive.Hubert is ill, and all Ferdinand wants to do is just to take care of him.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary (background), Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth (background), Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	Have each other until sun

**Author's Note:**

> Not a very original plot, I know. But it feels good to start posting with a vampire au.  
> I am so very sorry for the amount of mistakes you all will find. I'm not a native speaker so, yeah, I did my best lol.
> 
> The title is taken from "If I was your vampire" by Marilyn Manson. I know, original.

His shoes tick against the smooth marble of the floor, echoing along the deserted corridor. It's illuminated by the strong summer light that penetrates through the huge and large windows, which is making clearly visible the road that Ferdinand von Aegir is following. Not that he needs a guide after all: the imperial palace is, for him, like a second home, much more welcoming than his gloomy and now empty villa; much more alive, every corner of it is not full of memories of his not very happy childhood and of that family - he is the only one of them that survived, after all.

Ferdinand breathes, holds his breath in his lungs for a few seconds to gather some of his courage that, at times like this, sometimes fails him, and he only exhales when he stops in front of Hubert's personal chambers' door. He raises a fist and knocks gently against the lacquered and finely decorated wood, waiting for an answer.

No wonder he gets nothing but silence, “Hubert?” then calls him, softly. He fears that he is not too welcomed, and fears that he will wake him up if he is sleeping, albeit in an unsuitable hour. “I am Ferdinand. May I come in?”  
  
He hasn't seen Hubert for days. His non-presence in the palace is strange, Ferdinand is now accustomed to see him at Edelgard's side most of the time - despite, lately, even he has realized that he has to leave the necessary spaces to the Emperor, even more so if the said spaces are shared with the teacher - or holed up in the kitchens to prepare a coffee without being disturbed. Ferdinand knows he is very often the cause of his troubles, but does not want to surrender to the fact that Hubert does not want him. Until Hubert chases him away once and for all, Ferdinand will foolishly delude himself that he is not entirely a nuisance for him.  
  
Somehow, Ferdinand knows, however, that Hubert isn't trying to avoid him this time. Asking Edelgard about him is futile, her responses are always vague and inconclusive, and she is too busy, in any case, to have conversations with him, so he is unable to distort information from her. Maybe she doesn't know anything either, or maybe she's trying to cover it up for something he's done. Ferdinand doesn't really care, the only thing he cares about is knowing if he's okay, if he needs help...

He waits a full minute in front of his door, without receiving any response yet. “Hubert?” he tries again, because Ferdinand has never been a guy who gives up too easily. He puts his hand on the knob and turns it, and he is surprised when he discovers that the door is not locked. It is strange, Hubert is not a type to have such forgetfulness. Swallowing, he pushes the door slowly, biting his lip with each creak of the wood, then closes it behind him, finding himself completely wrapped in darkness.

With his hands forward, he stops with his back to the wall and waits for his eyes to get used to the darkness, because otherwise he would not have been able to see anything. He certainly does not want to risk ending up in some furniture and breaking something, or worse, ending up on Hubert asleep. If Hubert is actually here, that is. He blinks, and after a few minutes he finally manages to distinguish the contours of the room, and the figure lying on the bed. Ferdinand calms down, seeing Hubert - Hubert is there, he seems to be well, although perhaps feverish, seeing how his chest moves almost convulsively, how his breathing is labored.

“Hubert?” he murmurs, only to confirm that he was actually sleeping. Hubert would not have remained silent, on the other hand, during his entrance, but Ferdinand wants to be sure that he is really sleeping and he is not feeling so bad that he cannot move or speak. He looks at the window and sees the curtains drawn completely, and perhaps with some other drapery to block completely the rays of the summer sun. Only at that moment does he realize the unnatural frost that reigns in the room, but he puts aside that oddity - it's the middle of summer, and although the heat outside can't get in, it shouldn't be so cold anyway.

He sits on the edge of the bed and leans towards Hubert, towards his frowning face, towards his squeezed eyes. He is feverish, he sees it from his forehead beaded with sweat and from the wet patch on the pillow under his head. He is wearing his usual clothes, so unsuitable for resting, and he is not under the covers, although he should not feel warm. Ferdinand is worried, he cannot deny it: from what he remembers, he never saw Hubert bedridden, even when during a battle he was hit by a spell and had to continue fighting and vomiting dark liquids - oh, and how afraid felt Ferdinand, fearing that it was blood and that Hubert was leaving him, right there, just when the war was practically won. But Hubert did not leave him, and he continued to fight to the very end, alongside Edelgard, alongside _him_.

He reaches out a hand, slightly hesitating, towards his damp hair, to see if he really has a fever and if perhaps Ferdinand doesn't do better to call someone who can heal him, like Linhardt or Manuela. He does not have time, however, to place his fingers on the skin of his forehead that suddenly Hubert's clear eyes open wide, flutter fast and Ferdinand feels himself flare up that, albeit without malice, he is caught just as he tried to _touch_ him.

“...Ferdinand?” Hubert's voice is hoarse, as if he hasn't spoken for days. Ferdinand feels a slight squeeze around his heart, thinking that perhaps it really is so. “What ... what are you doing here?”

Ferdinand thanks the darkness, because Hubert surely cannot see the redness on his face, “I knocked at the door, but you did not answer me, so... I didn't expect the door to be opened, if I'm being honest. I wanted to know how you were, Edelgard told me that-”

“Did Lady Edelgard ask about me? Does she need me?” Hubert tries to get up, not without difficulty, but Ferdinand shakes his head and brings a hand on his shoulder, to make him go back to lie down so as not to tire him.

As soon as he touches him, however, a shiver of _fear_ flows down his back, feeling how freezing his skin is, even under the layer of clothes he wears. But Ferdinand merely shakes his head and ignores that little voice in his head that is screaming out _danger_ , _danger_. “No, no, she didn't ask for you, don't worry. Edelgard told me that you are not feeling well, I am here just to see how are you, and maybe give you a hand. Nobody has seen you for days, I wasn't even sure you were here in your rooms. How do you feel? Have you got a fever? May I...?” he asks, trying again to bring his palm over his forehead.

But Hubert stops him, bringing his fingers to cover his eyes. He turns and stands sideways, in a vaguely fetal position, and moans, as if there is a light that bothers him, but around them there is nothing but darkness and cold. “If she didn't ask for me, Ferdinand, maybe you'd better go away.” he says softly.

Ferdinand knows that Hubert is suffering from who knows what evil, what pain, but he cannot help but jump at those words, as if he had received a whip. He lowers his eyes, and he doesn't triy to touch him again. “I... if that's what you want, I will go. But, Hubert, I don't want to leave you alone, please, if I can do something for you, _anything_...”

Hubert doesn't reply, and Ferdinand sighs, bitterly. The echo of all his rejections drums in his head, even louder than that senseless warning sign. How long a heart can last before breaking apart in two? Ferdinand has always defined himself as a strong, positive albeit proud person, but it's been moons, _it's been years_ , and he still cannot break through that wall that Hubert has around him since forever.

He gets up of the bed and, giving him one last look, Ferdinand sees that Hubert has fallen asleep again, giving him his back. He decides that now he can do nothing but follow Hubert's will and leave, without being able to do anything but cause him trouble. _As usual, Ferdinand, like every day since you were a child_ , he cannot help but think, a little hurt, a little disappointed above all by himself. But after a few steps towards the door, Hubert's hoarse voice stops him, “Hungry... I'm hungry.”

“You are hungry ... Ah! Sure! Of course! I'll bring you something hot to eat, I won't keep you waiting too long! You will see, you will feel better in no time, I am used to it, during the war I took care of Bernadetta many times when she was not feeling particularly well, even if very often she only pretended not to - Hubert?” Ferdinand smiles, this time, when Hubert doesn't answer him. He gives in to the temptation and watches him for a few seconds while he's breathing deeply, seeming more relaxed than just before, and leaves the room in absolute silence, so as not to disturb his sleep. Once outside, he tries hard not to think about how much hotter it is outside Hubert's chambers, with the temperature so high that it almost makes his head spin.

  
Ferdinand considers himself rather lucky when, on the way to the kitchens of the imperial palace, he meets Bernadetta. It is not a very common thing, she who even after years in battle that have forged her and helped her become a real warrior, still cannot manage to stay away from her room for too long – but not away from her home, wishing to stay safe within known walls but at the same time away from her father. In any case, he manages to convince her to give him help: not that he defined himself as a total incapable in the kitchen, but certainly Bernadetta is much more inclined to prepare something substantial without risking that it has a bad taste. Ferdinand even took care to tell her not to abuse sugar too much, knowing very well that Hubert does not have a sweet taste.

Around dinner time, Ferdinand and Bernadetta managed to prepare what should have been a soup, but perhaps not as tasty as it should have been. But it doesn't matter, because according to Ferdinand the important thing is that it is warm and particularly nutritious. Bernadetta helps him carry the tray right in front of Hubert's door, and then finally realizes who she was about to meet and runs away with her legs up, screaming that she is not ready to be drained of her lifeblood by a sick Hubert.  
  
Inside Hubert's rooms, little has changed since that afternoon: it is still too dark, it is still too cold. With extreme slowness, once his eyes have become accustomed to the dark, Ferdinand places the tray on the table, and then approaches the bed, where Hubert seems to have not moved even an inch, always in that fetal position, with hands on his face. But he breathes deeply and calmly, a sign that perhaps a little of his temperature must have dropped.  
  
“Hubert?” he calls him, gently. He wouldn't really want to wake him up, since sleeping can only do him good, but Ferdinand is extremely convinced that Hubert needs something warm in his body right now. “Hubert, sweetheart, wake up. I brought you some food, here. It's hot and it will help you.” He helps him to get up by putting his hands and arms around his shoulders, while Hubert merely grunts slowly, still dazed by sleep. He accompanies him to one of the chairs sprawled around the table, helps him to sit and brings the tray with the soup close to him, smiling encouragingly. He looks at his face as he sits at his side: his eyes are narrowed, those eyes the same color as a sun-kissed meadow are red, swollen, his eyelids weighed down. He is pale, terribly pale, and is hunched as if his head over his shoulders weighed like a boulder. Ferdinand swallows, then sighs. He hates seeing him like this, he hates seeing him so weakened and not being able to do anything concrete to really help him.  
  
Hubert's voice is broken, “Ferdinand... I'm hungry...” he swallows, as if he has a lump in his throat that bothers him.  
  
“I know, honey, it's here. It may not be the best soup you have ever eaten, but you will see that it will warm you up and make you feel better. Or at least it will ease your hunger.” he chuckles, as he watches him, very slowly, take the spoon between his darkened fingers and sink it into the soup. He really hopes that its flavor is not as bad as its appearance.  
  
After eating no more than two full spoons of soup, Hubert, with a dry and perhaps a bit violent shot, throws the tray away from him, dirtying the table with the small pieces of boiled vegetables that Bernadetta has cut into cubes with so much care. Ferdinand winces, and is ready to apologize for perhaps putting sugar in it instead of salt – and yet he paid so much attention during preparation! - but Hubert takes his face in his hands again, covering his eyes, and murmurs: “I can't do it... it's useless, I can't do it...”  
  
“It's all right, Hubert, shhh. I am so sorry.” Ferdinand, gathering some of his courage, stretches out a hand and strokes his hair, to then almost snap back the moment his fingers leaned on the skin of the neck. Hubert is _cold_. Colder than he feared. Too cold to be _alive_. But he holds back, ignores that growing anxiety in his stomach, leaving him sickening, and continues to give him what he can and what Hubert allows him to give, a little comfort that perhaps will not help physically, but will make him understand that Ferdinand is there for him, and does not want to leave him alone.  
  
But Ferdinand is uneasy, his fingers are shaking and the temptation to move and run away is getting stronger. He doesn't know why he feels as if he's on a battlefield, in front of demonic beasts: in front of him there is only one sick man, there is only Hubert who cannot even keep his eyes open for too long. Rarely has his intuition turned out to be wrong, but very often Ferdinand has found himself ignoring his survival instincts - especially when he sees no danger _at all_.  
  
“I'm hungry, Ferdinand. I'm so hungry.” he murmurs again, his voice muffled by his own hands on his face, and Ferdinand swallows, with fear that burns in his stomach, and squeezes his fingers a little more against the back of his neck. Hubert's hair is wet and freezing, as if it had been under a storm and the snow crystals have melted on him.  
  
“Eat then. I know it's not good, and I'm so very sorry about that, but you have my word that-”  
  
Ferdinand stops when Hubert grabs his wrist. He takes his hand away from the neck and brings his palm close to his cheek, in a refined caress, and Ferdinand's heart loses a beat. “May I eat, Ferdinand?” he whispers, stroking his wrist with the tip of his nose and pointing his eyes into his, suddenly open, suddenly _hungry_.  
  
Ferdinand tries with all his might not to pant. There is something so wrong with all this, but he doesn't understand, _he doesn't understand_ , his icy nose is so distracting. “S-sure, Hubert... you shouldn't even ask-”  
  
It is just a moment. Hubert pulls at his wrist, and Ferdinand loses his balance, but does not fall on the ground. He doesn't know how it happens, he doesn't know how to explain it; he finds himself sitting on Hubert's legs as if that is the place designated for him for a lifetime, and Hubert's hands are everywhere, they are in his hair and they pull, pull hard and show off his pale neck. Ferdinand would like to scream, outraged, but Hubert's lips rest on the delicate skin just below the ear and he can't make it, an electric jolt is released in his belly and it makes him gasp, leaves him breathless and with his mind completely empty.  
  
When he feels his teeth - pointed teeth, they _shouldn't be pointed_ \- press, more, more, until they pierce his flesh, Ferdinand can only think for a few seconds that his instinct has been right, he _is_ in danger, but the fear he feels in his chest blends perfectly with the pleasure he feels in his stomach, together with the stinging pain on his neck. He moans, that's all he can do. His hands tighten around Hubert's clothes, perhaps tearing them, as if they are the only hold into reality, before completely getting lost in the sensations he is feeling. Hubert makes obscene verses, while he is drinking his blood, he drinks and swallows like a thirsty man in a desert with the fresh water of an oasis, and Ferdinand cannot stop, he squeezes his legs around his, without even bothering about the fact that Hubert is probably feeling the erection clearly pressing against his belly.  
  
“H-Hubert...” gasps Ferdinand, but he cannot find his voice. Hubert drinks and does not hear him, does not even let a drop of blood escape his lips. “Ah, Hubert...”  
  
When his ears start to whistle and his eyes start to blur, Ferdinand knows that Hubert must stop, and he wants to stop him, really, because he doesn't want to die like this, despite in a corner of his mind he thinks that it would be such a sweet death, immersed in his arms and lips on his skin - but he can't, _he can't_ , Hubert would never forgive himself.  
  
“Hubert... enough...” he murmurs again, and now Ferdinand feels almost nothing, just his own limbs numb and his eyes closing against his will, “Hubert...!”  
  
Before losing consciousness, Ferdinand barely feels Hubert's mouth leaves him with a snap, then leaves a series of wet metallic-smelling kisses along his neck.  
  


  
Ferdinand wakes up and it's morning. He opens his eyes slowly, feeling them weighed down despite many hours of sleep. He feels his aching limbs and his neck on fire - and it is precisely that pungent pain, similar to that of a wound not treated in time and infected, that reminds him what happened the night before. And he flares up, now more embarrassed than afraid, rethinking his screams and his silly moans.  
  
He looks around: the room is still dark, but the faint light of dawn passes through the semi-open curtains and a shy ray of sun leans, almost hesitantly, on the blankets wrapped around his legs. He is in Hubert's bed, his scent surrounds him. He immediately notices that he no longer wears the clothes from the night before, but a light pajama that, obviously .. _is not his_.  
  
He stands up suddenly, and then sways for a sharp turn of his head. He brings one hand on the mattress to support himself without collapsing miserably on the pillow, the other to his head, in a useless gesture that, he knows well, would not help him pass the pain he felt in his temples, while his hair was loose - and, it pains him to admit it, disheveled - they fall in front of his face, hiding it.  
  
“Don't make sudden movements. Drink this.” A cold hand raises his face and a full glass of fresh water approaches his lips, and Ferdinand begins to drink, in long sips, barely realizing that he feels his throat dry and his mouth kneaded.  
  
When only a miserable drop remains in the glass, Ferdinand shakes his head, catching his breath that he didn't realize he was holding. “Thank you.” he says, with a broken voice, almost unrecognizable.  
  
Hubert does not reply, but Ferdinand hears his footsteps leave quickly. He raises his face and sees him near his desk, into the darkest corner of his room: he seems to be well, so at first glance. Ferdinand can't see him completely, wrapped in darkness, but his shoulders no longer seem weighed down by an immense invisible weight, and his eyes - his eyes that, oh, shine so much in the dark, look like two bright stars in one moonless night - no longer reddened, or weighed down. Ferdinand smiles at him, relieved - and ignores the twinge in his chest that he feels when he doesn't see Hubert returning the smile -, feeling that he has finally helped Hubert and has not been again an useless weight.  
  
He would like to ask him how he is feeling now, but all he can think of, at that precise moment, is that he is wearing _Hubert's pajamas_. “Where are... my clothes?” murmurs. He's not afraid to speak louder, he just doesn't have enough strength to do it.  
  
Hubert's gaze does not waver as he replies: “They are dirty. I apologies for having taken such freedom while you were asleep, but it did not seem appropriate to let you sleep in those conditions. I got you some more.”  
  
“I see.” Ferdinand nods, and if he still had some blood in his body, his face would probably flare. “The soup... fell on me, I guess... Thank you.”  
  
“No.” Hubert shakes his head, and Ferdinand seems to glimpse a smile on his lips, but in the dark he is not sure. “They're not dirty with soup.”  
  
“Blood, then?” he asks, almost unconsciously putting a hand on his neck, and barely jerks when his fingers touch the thick crust that has formed around the wound. Only then Hubert's eyes drop. Ferdinand misses them immediately. “No, not even blood.”  
  
“And what then -” he stops immediately, and this time he feels his face burning very clearly. Obviously. He remembers very well the sensations of the night before, and certainly the pain is not the most vivid of those. “Oh.” he moans, hiding his face behind his hair again, “ _Oh_.”  
  
Hubert does not comment, and silence falls between them. The only sound that Ferdinand hears is the chirping of some bird outside the window, and it must be quite close, considering that he can hear it clearly even with the barred windows. He would like to find the strength to leave, gather his clothes and disappear for at least a few days - how could he ever show up in front of Hubert again, after all of this?  
  
“Ho-how are you? It seems you are feeling better... May I know what in the Goddess' name happened to you?” he finally asks, momentarily putting aside his embarrassment. It is not easy, he would still like to bury himself and not be looked at by those disgusted and disparaging eyes, but at that moment he is particularly concerned about what reduced him like this, what made him become... what? A monster? A beast? A blood drinker, what, what is he?  
  
“Nothing. It pains me to admit that it is entirely my fault and of my naivety that I find myself... in these conditions.” Ferdinand hears footsteps, so he raises his face as Hubert approaches. His features are now illuminated by the dim sunlight and he looks at him, immobile as a stone, in the center of the room, his eyes darkened but with a bitter smile on his lips. “I should have kept the promise I made to you.”  
  
“The promise...” mutters Ferdinand. “You have... what... what have you done to yourself ?!” he accuses him. He knows what promise Hubert is referring to, it's the only thing Ferdinand ever demanded from him. “You promised me... you swore it! You swore to me that you would no longer experiment on yourself, you would no longer use dark magic on your body! You swore it to me, Hubert!”  
  
“I am sorry, Ferdinand. But I have a mission to accomplish, and I wasn't strong enough to complete it, I had to _try_.”  
  
“I do not care!” he yells out. He does not know where he is taking the strength to yell at him, perhaps the disappointment, perhaps the concern he feels towards him gives him enough adrenaline to do it. He only knows that he can't help looking at him holding back his tears of anger. “What did you do?!”  
  
Hubert lowers his eyes on his dark hands, imbued with black magic, “I bought blood from a shady figure at the market. He assured me that it would give me immense strength, but he didn't mention the consequences. I trusted him, and now I pay for this mistake.”  
  
“Does Edelgard know?” Ferdinand asks, not stopping to look at him, disappointed.  
  
“She does. I only avoided her anger because I was particularly pathetic these days, but now I think there will be nothing that will stop her from scolding me.”  
  
"Scolding you?" Ferdinand repeats, shaking his head incredulously, “She should punish you! She should lock you up somewhere to avoid that one of these days you will kill yourself with your own hands!”  
  
“Lady Edelgard is looking for a solution. Although, I fear that...” Hubert swallows, and Ferdinand sees his tongue flicker between his lips and moisten them. He knows it's not the right time to make sinful thoughts, but he still feels terribly sensitive from the night before, so he can't completely ignore the spark he feels in his belly. “After what I did last night, I'm afraid I won't be able to turn back to normal.”  
  
Silence falls again. Ferdinand bites his lips, and from under the covers he brings his legs to his chest: he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't even know how to react to all of this. He is disappointed, but that inside he already knows that he would never abandon Hubert in such a situation. It is not in his nature to turn his back, to anyone; he didn't do it during the war, when, even if for a short time, he almost believed he was fighting for a lost cause - for a _wrong_ cause - and he won't do it now.  
  
“And now?” he finally asks.  
  
“Now nothing, Ferdinand. I accept my fate.” Hubert replies, without any particular inclination in his voice.  
  
“What will you do from now on? I mean, if you really can't... go back, how do you intend to continue living? Hubert, I... if you need blood, I-”  
  
“No!” Ferdinand cannot help but jump at Hubert's sudden and vehement scream. He looks at him with wide eyes, his mouth half-open, his heart in pieces: another, _another_ refusal. Hubert has his fists clenched at his side, a senseless anger to stiffen the cold features of his face and Ferdinand, coward, can not help but take his eyes off and put them on his hands clasped around the sheets, pale as never before. “I won't hurt you again, Ferdinand.”  
  
And maybe that's true, maybe Hubert is so opposed to that just to not cause him pain, in any way. But how could Ferdinand think that this is really the real reason, when he has spent the last five years longing for his lips and his attentions, without getting anything from him but disinterest? He can't, and even if he somehow manages to convince his mind, his heart can't help but hurt, as always.  
  
“ _You keep hurting me anyway_...” he murmurs, under his breath, his hair covering his face. Ferdinand doesn't know if Hubert has heard him or not, and he doesn't care, so without looking up at him, he asks: “May I have a moment alone? I would like to change and leave.”  
  
Hubert is silent for long a moment. Finally, Ferdinand hears his footsteps echoing in the calm silence of the room, before he hears the noise of the door that closes behind him. Once alone, Ferdinand lets himself go, and cries all those bitter tears against the sheets that still smells like Hubert - he cries for the mocking fate that made fun of both of them, making Hubert a being who could break his bones as if they were twigs; and he cries for himself, who still, inevitably, still hopes for his return.  
  


  
The days have gone slow, monotonous, empty. Ferdinand continues to work without being distracted, he discusses with Edelgard as every day, he trains with Caspar and with Byleth as if they still are at Garreg Mach. He does not try to avoid Hubert, but Hubert seems to have become even more elusive than he has ever been before: only during the night he can be seen alongside Edelgard, discussing animatedly, albeit in a low voice.  
  
Ferdinand only met once with Hubert: he found himself in the throne room together with Hubert, Edelgard and the professor. He got distracted, he must admit it, he was unable to keep his eyes in front of him but let him wander on his shoes, not listening to Edelgard's words, nor Hubert's answers, nor Byleth's assents. And they probably got suspicious of his unusual silence - he, who is _always_ ready to question Edelgard's words -, so, suddenly, he felt Hubert's cold fingers covered by his gloves bring him a lock of hair behind the ear, and his sarcastic voice asking him: "You're distracted, you should listen."  
  
Ferdinand jumped back, feeling that touch. And probably Hubert did not really realize his gesture until that moment, because he immediately withdrew his fingers and hid his face to the side, pretending to cough embarrassed. Ferdinand felt Edelgard's confused and annoyed gaze and Byleth's empty one on his neck, pinch like pins - and who knows what they thought, seeing their reactions, who knows if Edelgard has sensed something about Hubert's situation in this.  
  
Ferdinand pretended nothing. What else was he supposed to do?  
  


  
Ferdinand holds a yawn, walking slowly, immersed in the sunlight coming from the windows of the corridors of the imperial palace. He closes his eyes and puts a hand on his forehead to wipe the light sweat that pearles on his sleepy face. He hasn't slept well for days now; he spends sleepless nights reading lazily lying on his bed or looking out the window - waiting to see some figure in the dark trying to reach him in the shadows, or what else. But he is always the only one there, waiting, because Ferdinand remains the usual hopeful fool as always.  
  
Dorothea appears to be dancing in front of him, with her scarlet dress fluttering behind her bare back. Ferdinand follows her, less enthusiastic, less euphoric than she is - but he wants to enjoy her presence nonetheless, which is so rare in recent times, far from the Empire. Dorothea tells him about the Brigid, the burning sun that darkened her skin; she speaks to him of Petra who has risen to the throne, who is loved and is so happy to be at her side in such an important moment of her life; she reveals that maybe Petra will soon ask her to marry her, but she is not yet very sure and does not want to travel too much with her imagination and then get hurt when reality turns out to be completely different. Ferdinand nods behind her - he does not comment, and Dorothea also knows that Ferdinand is an expert in disappointing himself in this way, taking on expectations that will never come true.  
  
Suddenly he feels pulled sideways - he doesn't scream, however, he doesn't have the time. He finds himself wrapped in the darkness of a corridor adjacent to the one he leaves behind, and it is only the cold that he feels that blocks his eventual violent reaction to free himself and start fighting. He knows that chill, and he knows those gloved hands around his wrist and around his face: Hubert is behind him, but does not show himself to him. He sinks his face into his neck, inhales his smell deeply, and exhales almost trembling, as if he is holding back what he really wants to do. Ferdinand knows that Hubert is holding back, he feels it from how he holds him tightly against him, feels him from how he pushes him against the wall and blocks any exit.  
  
“Stop me. Ferdinand, I know you can do it, I'm asking you to stop me.” he gasps against his neck, and his lips scratch near the wound his teeth have caused him, but he doesn't bite.  
  
“Are you hungry?” Ferdinand asks, instead, calmly. Inside he feels completely upside down, as if he is stuck in a maelstrom and can only let himself be dragged up and down, left and right, strong and violent. But he doesn't want to show any of this, not when Hubert is finally here and he's returned to him.  
  
“I am _painfully_ hungry, Ferdinand. But I won't... I won't. I won't hurt you, Ferdinand. I won't do it, I won't bite you, I won't drink your blood... Ferdinand...”  
  
Ferdinand shivers with every word, with every cold breath that breaks against his sweaty skin. And his name, whispered by that desperate voice, is like an alarm bell and it's like a prayer at the same time. “Do it. Otherwise what should the alternative be? Will you go to do that to... someone else? I don't want you to go to someone else.”  
  
“I don't care about anyone. I can kill twenty without blinking an eye and feeding on them without even feeling guilty in the least. But your blood, Ferdinand... is so dear to me. Just feeling you unconscious in my arms terrifies me. I don't want to... hurt you, ever.”  
  
Ferdinand tries to turn around, and Hubert allows him - even if he doesn't move an inch, not even leaving a whisper between them. He looks at him in his green eyes - as green as the grass kissed by the sun, that green so light it looks like molten gold - and he shakes his head slightly, reading in those irises all the temptation and despair he is feeling. “I don't want you to go to anyone else, not because I do not care about their safety - even if it should be more than a valid reason to stop you. I _demand_ to be the _only one_ , Hubert. I pretend that you do not go to anyone and you do to them what... what you did to me.” He blushes at that point in his speech, but he feels so warmed by his own words that he doesn't care at all. “Do you really think I would accept bites and marks on my body or I would let anyone who needs it to drink my blood? I do my best to help everyone, but I would only do this with _you_. It even seems foolish to point it out!” he concludes, a little indignant.  
  
Hubert returns his gaze. Ferdinand observes his pronounced dark circles, so dark that his eyes seem even more sunken than they normally are. His thin lips are parted and he breathes with difficulty, cold and sweaty as he was that not too distant day. He looks at him for endless minutes, and Ferdinand still feels that storm inside himself but does not look down - not now, it would be a defeat and it would be entirely his fault - and he can see very clearly the precise moment in which the resoluteness of Hubert falters.  
  
Hubert sighs and he is the first to take his eyes off. He closes them and, with no little effort, murmurs: “As soon as you get rid of Dorothea, come to my rooms.”  
  
“Dorothea...?” Ferdinand whispers, at the same time Hubert turns his back on him and disappears into the dark. He completely forgot Dorothea's presence until Hubert named her and her melodious voice screamed his name from the adjacent corridor.  
  
Feeling only half guilty, Ferdinand trembles with expectation as he seeks a gentle way to get rid of her. On the other hand, Dorothea would have stayed until the end of the week, they would have had more time to go to the opera together - but Hubert no, Hubert cannot wait and Ferdinand would not let him wait even one minute longer.  
  


  
Hubert pushes him against the door that Ferdinand has closed behind him, pressing the cold and trembling body against his, almost blocking his breath. But Hubert does not bite him immediately, although his lips seem unable to move away from his neck; Hubert stays there, holding him close, sniffing his smell and kissing the delicate skin behind his ear.  
  
“I don't want to bite you, not now, not right away.” gasps Hubert, and his hands drop to his sides and stop firmly on Ferdinand's thighs, who can't help shivering - he doubts, however, that the cause is the cold of his skin. Hubert is much stronger than Ferdinand remembers, his physique still seems frail and emancipated but when he feels him lift his legs to help him encircle his hips, Ferdinand realizes with a touch of pain that the blood that Hubert drank had its effects - however undesirable the consequences are.  
  
Hubert's lips go from his neck to his cheek, then to his lips. Ferdinand has always imagined that moment as perhaps one of the most beautiful of his life, romantic, with butterflies in his stomach and soft lights and roses on the bed, but everything he is actually thinking about, while Hubert devours his mouth, licks his palate and bites his tongue - without piercing - it's _nothing_. His head seems to be detached from the rest of the body, he cannot think clearly. He distractly realizes that Hubert lies him on his bed and climbs on top of him, and begins to undress him, fast but with gentle delicacy. He hasn't bitten him yet, he still can't let go of his lips for more than three seconds and Ferdinand enjoys his freezing hands on his naked body - and he doesn't tremble, Ferdinand, except for wanting to hear Hubert's teeth within himself, to feel Hubert within himself.  
  
Hubert does not take off his own clothes - and Ferdinand, perhaps foolishly, thinks it is not to cool him with his skin - remains there to kiss him everywhere and at the same time not enough, Ferdinand's lips quiver when they remain abandoned and wet, but now they are also free to moan without Hubert doing anything to silence them, perhaps in fact fondling him more to hear him scream louder, and louder. He feels his smile on his skin.  
  
“Hubert!” he moans, almost screaming his name, without control, when his fingers enter him without warning but with immense delicacy, "H – Hubert!" he gasps again, and Hubert stretches him lovingly, deeper, his gloved and wet fingers seem to caress him from the inside and Ferdinand can't take it anymore, he wants his teeth, and he tells him that, maybe, but he's not sure of it because Hubert doesn't satisfied him, continuing to kiss his exposed collarbone and nibble it - and taste it - without even a drop of blood being spilled.  
  
“I'm not a monster.” he hears him murmur against his neck, “I'm not dead. My heart still beats, I'm still alive. And now ... now ... never been _so alive_ , Ferdinand. It is your blood that flows in my veins and beats in my chest. It's you, only you, _only you._ ”  
  
It bites him there, just below the chin, where the blood flows faster and more abundantly. It bites him suddenly, just as his fingers suddenly abandon him and are replaced by his cock, cold and glacial, but it seems to cool inside his feverish body. Ferdinand no longer sees anything, no longer hears anything. Pleasure explodes like a spell in his belly and temples, the pain on the neck is nothing compared to the throbbing of his erection abandoned between their united bodies.  
  
Hubert pushes in and sucks his blood with the same intense vehemence, with the same intentive rhythm that drives Ferdinand crazy and agitates him, he is unable to sit still and therefore squeezes Hubert's hair as much as he can, unconsciously pushing him more towards his neck - Ferdinand still wants that, still wants his mouth, still wants his teeth and still wants his body.  
  
Ferdinand does not know what will happen tomorrow, he does not know if Hubert will return to chase him away as if he is an annoying insect, he does not even know if tomorrow he will reopen his eyes - because Hubert does not stop, he is not stopping, and Ferdinand does not have enough strength to make him stop. Even when their pleasure reaches the limit, when both of them come almost together in a wonderful climax that makes them totally lose touch with reality, Hubert doesn't seem to have any intention to stop biting his skin, he doesn't seem to stop drinking again and again and again.  
  
  
When he opens his eyes, he doesn't feel like the first time. His whole body hurts, it is heavy, his head throbs and he feels his neck as if it had been torn by a thousand pins. He moans, but can't move to get up and look for Hubert - is he still there? He's gone? Has he regretted everything and will he never see him again? - so he remains in the bed, wrapped in the blankets that smell of Hubert, despite the scorching sun outside the window.  
  
“Don't move, Ferdinand. Sleep more, it's early.” Hubert is sitting next to him on the bed. He puts his hands on his hair, caresses it and Ferdinand looks at him, with a weak heart but full of something that even before he has never been able to identify, but now it seems so clear that it seems even stupid to not have understood it before. His hand is not too cold, it is slightly warm and only one corner of his mind thinks that it is thanks to his own blood which, now, flows in his veins.  
  
“Do not abandon me.” he whispers at that point. Ferdinand has no voice, has no strength, would like to follow his advice and go back to sleep, but he is too afraid that if he does not speak in this moment, when he wakes up Hubert will no longer be next to him. “After all this... I would not be able to bear your indifference again. I think I love you and... no, I'm sure I love you now, and I can't... please, Hubert, don't do it. Don't leave me.”  
  
Hubert lowers his eyes, but does not move his hand away from his hair. He sinks his fingers almost thoughtfully, slides the amber waves on the skin as if they were a silk handkerchief, and Ferdinand almost ignores his aching body, concentrating only on that sweet gesture. He feels his eyes heavy, and almost lets himself go, half-closing them, but he stays awake - he must stay awake, at least until Hubert talks to him again, does not calm him down, decides to reciprocate what he feels.  
  
With his eyelids parted, he can see the slight smile - albeit bitter - that stretches Hubert's lips: “This means that I will have to learn to, well, better control myself. It is not my desire to reduce you to death every time, Ferdinand.”  
  
“Of c-course.” Ferdinand returns the smile, albeit weakly. He is sleepy, and he knows that he would fall asleep in moments, then accepts the glass of water that Hubert, with his lukewarm hands, hands him and helps him drink, then adds: “We will learn how it works together... right?”  
  
Hubert doesn't answer, but maybe he nods. Ferdinand, however, cannot see him, because he closes his eyes and falls asleep again, not entirely serene but with a slightly lighter heart, still with Hubert's hand sunk in his hair and his lips barely rubbing, light as a ghost, against his. 


End file.
